The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 407

"Mom—"

Rosemary wrenched her arm free and lunged for the next door.

At the far end of the hallway, the familiar chime of the elevator doors opening cut through the chaos.

It wasn't security. It was a figure Garrison knew all too well—Vincent Foster.

But to Garrison's absolute shock, Archie Foster was right behind him.

When the ten-year-old boy stepped out of the elevator, the explosive tension in the corridor seemed to instantly deflate, suffocated by his mere presence.

He was still wearing his international school uniform—a crisp white shirt, a navy blue tie, and dark dress shorts, his shirt perfectly tucked in.

He had clearly been pulled straight out of class, his backpack still slung over his shoulders. But there was no panic on his face, no childish fear at the sight of the screaming madness unfolding before him.

He walked forward with unsettling calm. He glanced at his hysterical grandmother, then shifted his gaze to the blazing red handprint stamped across Garrison's cheek. Without a word, he rushed forward.

"Grandma!" Archie threw his small arms around Rosemary's arm, anchoring her in place. "Grandma, you need to calm down."

"Let go of me, Archie! Your father has that woman hidden away—" Rosemary thrashed wildly, trying to reach the next door handle. "She murdered your aunt! She murdered Quinn—"

Vincent strode forward, slamming a heavy hand down onto Rosemary's opposite shoulder. The sheer force of his grip finally shocked her into silence for a fraction of a second.

"Rosemary, enough!"

His voice was a low, terrifying rumble, dripping with absolute, unquestionable authority. "We are in a hospital. What the hell do you think you're doing, acting like a lunatic in front of all these patients?"

Standing frozen in the hallway, Garrison watched the elevator doors slowly slide shut. He watched that small, devastatingly mature face disappear inch by inch behind the metal, feeling as though an iron fist had just crushed his heart.

The boy was only ten years old, yet he had already learned how to look at adults with that heavy, forgiving gaze. He had already learned how to step into the dead center of a hurricane and quietly shield his father from the wreckage.

Garrison knew better than anyone the agonizing price of that premature maturity.

Quinn's death had undoubtedly shattered Archie's world, too.

The elevator chimed, the doors sealing completely.

The hallway finally sank into total silence, broken only by the hushed apologies of the nurses cleaning up the mess and the irritated grumbles of the disturbed patients behind the closed doors.

Garrison just stood there, staring blankly at the closed elevator doors, for a very, very long time...